


Turn and Turn About

by celeste9



Series: Promise [25]
Category: Primeval
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Awkwardness, Family, Humor, M/M, Music, Piano
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-26
Updated: 2012-07-26
Packaged: 2017-11-10 19:08:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/469673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celeste9/pseuds/celeste9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"My mum's out of town in three weeks and it can be just you, me, and the piano."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turn and Turn About

_Remind me again how I got into this situation,_ James thought as he stood awkwardly to the side in Becker's mother's study, watching Becker approach the piano. James knew enough to recognise that it was a parlour grand piano and kept in excellent condition, the dark wood polished and rich in colour, not faded or in any way damaged.

It was no surprise at all that Becker obviously intended to make a show of himself and the piano. It was a deliberate attempt to torture James, of that he had no doubt. Becker sat down at the piano and drew his fingers over the wood of the lid before raising it. He stroked the keys lovingly and then turned to James, patting the bench beside him. "Why don't you sit down next to me, James?"

James tried to pretend like he hadn't been staring at Becker's fingers and did as Becker suggested, ruing the fact that the bench was short enough to make it impossible for James to put the inches of space between them he desired.

"Any requests?"

"Surprise me."

Becker thought for a moment and then said, "This is Maria's favourite. She used to beg me to play it over and over, she even has a recording of it. Of me playing it, I mean."

"How sweet," James said and then lost his train of thought completely as Becker started to play. He sat transfixed, watching Becker's long fingers and the way his tendons moved under his skin, those hands that by all rights should have been too rough to look so right on the keys of a piano, and heard an echo of Becker's low voice saying, _You're already picturing how sexy I'll be with my fingers on those keys._ He had never found a man's wrists to be quite this hot and it was frankly a little absurd.

God damn it. He wanted desperately to shift in his seat but Becker would know immediately if he moved and James didn't think he could handle the embarrassment. He swallowed and said, "Pachelbel's Canon in D?"

"Very good, darling," Becker said, bumping his shoulder against James' without even missing a note.

"They play this at weddings," James said without thinking. He dragged his gaze away from Becker's hands to his face.

Becker was smiling a little. "They do. I suppose I'll have to keep in practice."

And no, damn it, James did not want to even consider what Becker may or may not have meant by that. Instead he set his hand on the back of Becker's neck, playing with the fine dark hairs there, and then bent his head in to press light kisses to Becker's skin.

"That is extremely distracting," Becker told him as he finally stopped playing, letting his hands fall into his lap.

"It's meant to be."

Becker shrank away from him, saying, "As much as I'd love to further explore this development, sweetie, I'm not about to let you get out of what you promised me."

Well, it probably would have been too much to hope for that Becker would forget. "I don't recall making any promises."

"I suppose it was more implied but let's not get caught up in semantics." Becker sounded far too cheerful while discussing further methods of James' torture. "Here, I'll play something easy. What about the Beatles? Everyone can sing the Beatles." He played a few notes of what was unmistakably 'Hey Jude'.

"Hils, I really--"

"I'd offer to sing along and help you get started, but you really don't want to hear me. When I quit the church choir I think my mum was secretly overjoyed."

"Oh, something you can't do? What a novel occurrence," James muttered.

"James," Becker said, frowning. "It isn't a competition. Besides, I don't know what you've got to be worried about. I've yet to see you do anything less than impressively so I'm sure you've got a lovely voice."

James looked away, fully aware that he was being silly. He wasn't really jealous; he quite liked the fact that Becker had this hidden depth of talent. It was more that he had felt so uncomfortable playing the guitar for Becker and felt even more uncomfortable thinking about singing in front of him and yet Becker somehow didn't seem bothered at all by playing the piano. James was unused to wanting so badly to impress someone, to feeling this anxious and tense, this uneasy in his own skin.

Becker took his hand, gently rubbing his thumb over the fine bones of James' wrist. "It's only me. If I can embarrass myself playing piano then you can humour me and sing a few lines of 'Hey Jude'."

"You admit that it is embarrassing?"

"Of course it's bloody embarrassing, you dolt. Why do you think I don't tell anyone about it?" Becker's grip on James' hand tightened. "You're not going to tell anyone at the ARC, are you? They don't need another thing to tease me about, believe me."

"But Hils, I'm so proud of your accomplishments. Perhaps I'd like to share them with our friends."

"Maybe you'd like them to know about your own accomplishments as well, then."

James shuddered. "Jess would probably arrange for a recital."

"And unluckily for you, a guitar can easily be moved. A piano, on the other hand…"

"I doubt she'd be put off by mere logistics. There are plenty of pianos around London just waiting to be used."

They shared a moment of mutual dread and then Becker said, "Keeping it to ourselves, then?"

"Absolutely," James confirmed.

"Good," Becker said and stole a kiss. "Besides, I like knowing things about you that no one else does. Well, I suppose Agatha knows."

"Yes. Her reaction was remarkably similar to yours." It was a fond memory.

Becker laughed. "I'll bet. Did you play for her a lot? Write her any songs in the wild days of your youth?"

"I don't suppose there's any way I could answer that without you merely interpreting it the way you want."

"Not really. Well, come on then, ready to sing for me, love? You wouldn't want me to be jealous of your ex, would you?"

"Heaven forbid," James said and braced himself. Better to get it over with. "Okay," he said and then just started, Becker needing a moment to remember himself and accompany James.

James stopped thinking about it and tried instead to focus again on the movement of Becker's hands. He had barely finished the second stanza before Becker stopped. James stopped as well, glad of the reprieve but unaccountably nervous. "That terrible?"

"Plonker," Becker said and kissed him.

James almost fell off the bench and clenched his hands in the front of Becker's shirt in an attempt for balance. "You might give me some warning," he gasped out.

"Where's the fun in that?" Becker asked and pushed James back against the piano, resulting in an unfortunate mashing of the keys.

"Were you one of those obnoxious band groupies as a teenager, Hils?"

"Me? Of course not. I had my own groupies."

James used the hand he'd snuck down the back of Becker's trousers to pinch him on the arse. "Your cockiness disgusts me. You might want to keep that in mind when you're trying to seduce me."

"God, you're such a liar. It's so obvious, like you're not even trying anymore," Becker said and squeezed James' cock through his trousers.

"Of course I'm not trying. It would be silly to cock-block myself, wouldn't it?"

Becker sucked eagerly at a spot on James' neck. "Fair enough. I propose we move this somewhere else. My mum will kill me if I wreck the piano."

"You'll get no objections from me. The corner is jabbing me in the back rather unpleasantly." Not to mention that he was dangerously close to slipping off the bench entirely and landing on his arse.

Becker was on his feet practically before James had even finished speaking, dragging James up and over to a couch in the corner. He shoved James down onto it and climbed on after him, rocking his hips forward. "Isn't this a nice change? A couch that wasn't designed for children? I won't even have to worry about falling off halfway through."

James decided to save his breath for better things than reminding Becker that when he had purchased the furniture for his flat, he hadn't done so with the knowledge that he would end up with a boyfriend who wanted to have sex on every single piece of it. "Your mum won't object if we wreck this?"

"Do me a favour and stop talking about my mum while I'm trying to have sex with you."

"Doesn't that turn you on, sweetheart? I know it does me."

Becker made a noise that was alarmingly reminiscent of an actual growl and then yanked James' shirt up and over his head, stopping while it was still tangled around James' arms. He trailed his mouth down James' chest, leaving what would no doubt be a line of bite marks and bruises.

Freeing his arms finally, James took Becker's cue and let his hands roam freely over all the skin he could reach, scratching shallowly with his nails. He fumbled at Becker's belt and the zip of his trousers but stopped at a strange noise. "Wait. Was that a car?"

"I'm sure it was nothing. The neighbours."

But James stayed still, poised and tense and listening, and that-- oh, that was a car door and it was unmistakably close.

Close as in, right outside.

"Shit," Becker said and scrambled to fix his clothing.

"I thought you said your mother wasn't coming back until tomorrow," James said, accusatory, hoping to cover the note of panic he felt.

"She wasn't," Becker said, clipped and tight. He scooted off the side of the couch and retrieved James' shirt, tossing it at him, before finger-combing through his hair.

Putting a hand to his neck, James said, "Becker, did you--"

"Oh, God," Becker said, miserable, and that was answer enough. "There's no way she's not going to know. I mean, look at you!"

James crossed his arms in front of his chest. "And whose fault is that?"

"Like you're any better! Why isn't there a fucking mirror in here? I probably look like-"

"Hilary? Is that you?" Aida's footsteps sounded on the floor and then she appeared in the doorway. "Oh! There you are. I saw your car. Hello, James, what a lovely surprise."

It was a surprise, all right. "Aida, it's a pleasure," James said, offering a smile he hoped didn't look as out of sorts as he felt.

Aida's quick eyes took in the scene, moving over Becker to James to the piano, the lid still up and the seat pulled out, and then, unfortunately, to the couch. Damn it, there was a sodding pillow on the floor.

And why exactly was James worrying about the misplaced pillow when the impossibly tidy Becker looked unkempt in the way that only a good shag got him? Except they hadn't even got to the actual shagging and God only knew what James looked like.

She smirked. "Well, there's no need to ask what brought you two here on a weekend when I wasn't home. I must make a note to give this room a good scrubbing. You haven't made a mess elsewhere, have you?"

"Mum," Becker protested half-heartedly.

"Oh, come along, Hilary, darling, I don't care what you get up to. Boys will be boys and all that. In any case, it isn't as if I was unaware of the girls you used to sneak in here while you were growing up. Now give your mother a kiss; I haven't seen you in ages."

Becker obediently crossed the room and kissed his mother on the cheek, his own cheeks stained a wonderful shade of pink. No one ever got to him quite like his family did. "It's good to see you, Mum. Did you have a nice trip?"

"I did, thank you. I had to cut it short as my friend took ill. An unfortunate set of circumstances for all of us, it seems." Aida looked very close to laughter.

Well, at least someone found it amusing, James thought. He was still of the opinion that the situation was horribly embarrassing and verging on humiliating.

"But as long as we're all here, you two simply must stay and have dinner with me."

"We couldn't possibly--" Becker started to protest.

Aida raised a hand and Becker fell silent immediately. "Hilary, I hardly ever get to see you, don't begrudge me this. And I haven't seen James since Christmas, as you're so intent on hiding him away."

"I'm not hiding him. We're busy, that's all."

"Yes, you're too busy to visit your poor old mum. I see you on TV more than I see you in person, you know. And I must say that I think I preferred it when I didn't know what you were doing. Some of those creatures I see you dealing with are horrible and you are far too prone to engaging in solo heroics."

"My thoughts exactly," James said.

Aida smiled at him. "I knew I liked you, James. You're wonderfully sensible, just what Hilary needs. Since he refuses to listen to his mother, maybe he'll listen to his boyfriend."

"I'm afraid I have little success in that area, Aida."

"Yes, well, perhaps you could provide some incentives."

"I'm not a child! Or a dog," Becker burst in. "Incentives my arse."

"Don't get so excited, dear, we only have your best interests at heart," Aida said, brushing her hand through Becker's hair. "Now then, dinner. You're both staying and I won't hear another word about it. James, darling, I believe you owe me a hug." She wrapped her arms around James and gave him a kiss on the cheek, whispering, "Hilary plays beautifully, doesn't he? You can thank me later." The sparkle in her eyes as she turned away left no doubt as to her meaning.

 _Damn,_ James thought, carefully avoiding looking at Becker. He was never going to live this down.

_**End** _


End file.
